Slips of the Tongue
by NotesfromaClassroom
Summary: Spock heads to Vulcan after slipping up and saying too much to his lab assistant, Nyota Uhura. He's quietly, cluelessly falling in love, and his journey provokes other slips of the tongue. Spock, Amanda, and Sarek on Vulcan--Nyota in flashback.
1. Traveling Incognito

Slips of the Tongue

Disclaimer: I borrowed these characters for my own purposes!

Traveling Incognito

As soon as he embarks on the shuttle, Spock scans the other passengers and is relieved that no one else from Starfleet appears to be on this particular flight. The Vulcans already seated look up briefly or not at all—and Spock stows his duffel and sinks into a seat behind the bulkhead.

Most of the passengers on the weekly shuttle from San Francisco to Shi'Kahr are Vulcan scientists returning home after working on projects in the Bay Area, though occasionally Starfleet personnel assigned to the Vulcan liaison office take the shuttle when military transport isn't available. The shuttles are so much slower than the larger ships, however, that most officers are careful to schedule their travel when passing starships or cruisers can give them a lift.

Within minutes the shuttle takes off and the passengers settle into reading, working, or meditating to pass the next several hours. Spock, however, is unable to do any of these things. Although he toggles on his comm and thumbs the messages, he doesn't read them. Perhaps he should call ahead and tell his mother that he is on the way? He decides not to, though he cannot articulate to himself why he is reluctant.

Once the shuttle reaches escape velocity, the passengers are free to move around, though few do. Spock considers standing up and walking down the aisle and back-he feels uncharacteristically jittery and wonders if movement will help him calm his breathing.

Before he can stand, a young Vulcan woman is at his side.

"You are Spock, are you not?" she asks, and Spock is startled. He had carefully changed from his normal dark gray Starfleet instructor's uniform into nondescript civilian clothes—yet someone has recognized him after all. He beats back a flush of annoyance and nods.

The young woman is wearing a knee-length overcoat and pants that nip in at her ankles. Her hair is lighter than Spock's, though her eyes are much darker than his own. She makes a motion with her shoulder and Spock understands that she wants to sit in the empty seat beside him. He stands so she can make her way past.

"Have we met?" he asks as the young woman situates herself, pulling her overcoat around her and turning slightly.

"I heard you lecture at the Academy recently," she says, and Spock mentally scans his memory of the audience of his last lecture—a surprisingly well-attended one on Romulan dialects. He cannot retrieve any image of the young woman—nor any clear picture of the people in the auditorium that day.

He doesn't doubt that she was there—his inability to recall her is further proof that his recent distraction is detrimental to a fault. Normally he can retrieve just this kind of unnoted information from what he has seen. Lately, however—

The young woman does not seem to notice his unease. She introduces herself as T'Nira, an engineer working with an architectural firm on Earth. For several minutes Spock asks polite questions about her work and her experiences in San Francisco, but soon the effort tires him and he asks fewer questions until at last he is silent.

"Forgive my intrusion into your privacy," T'Nira says suddenly, and Spock is both relieved and distraught that she has caught the tenor of his mood. Surely she will go back to her assigned seat now, he thinks, but instead, T'Nira leans fractionally closer and says, "If you need help at the shuttle terminal, I am in no hurry and can offer assistance. My connecting flight will not arrive for many hours. Since you are unwell, perhaps I can—"

Even as he speaks, Spock is mortified that he is unable to control the tone of his voice.

"I am not unwell," he says, and then he adds, "but thank you for your offer."

T'Nira stares at him without blinking—the Vulcan equivalent of calling someone a liar. Spock takes a breath and tries again.

"I am not in need of assistance," he says. "If I appear...unwell...I am simply in need of quiet and meditation after a strenuous teaching schedule this semester."

And then he adds, almost as an exclamation point to his comment, "The Academy is on break and it seemed a propitious time to visit my parents. If you will excuse me—"

T'Nira gives an almost imperceptible nod and exits the seat. Spock leans back and closes his eyes. If a stranger can pick up on his distress, he knows he will not be able to conceal it from his parents. He has to get some measure of control before the shuttle docks.

X X X X X X X X X

The ride in the rental transport from the shuttle terminal to his parents' house is a blur—later Spock realizes that he has driven without seeing the landscape at all. He fluctuates from imagining his mother's reaction at his sudden appearance to remembering his last conversation with Cadet Uhura.

For the past four months they have punctuated their time working in the lab with regular interludes of conversation or small meals—sometimes alone but more often with other assistants or professors in the communications department break room. Cadet Uhura—Nyota—seems to relish these social times, her hands making animated motions as she speaks, her eyes quick and ardent when she presses home a point in a friendly argument.

Far more reserved, Spock has been content to listen, mostly, and watch. At first he found her energy slightly off-putting, though he has come to recognize his appreciation for it when she is absent and he has to interact with his colleagues without her help.

She is not only a buffer for him, she also takes care to pull him into the conversations with others, asking him to clarify something or asking a provocative question that she knows he cannot resist answering.

And she teases him—gently, carefully—in a way that has made him homesick—not that Nyota reminds him of his mother, but her love of wordplay and her instinctive recognition that he shares it—even while he hides it—makes him feel understood in a way that is rare, and which highlights his loneliness since he has been living on Earth.

Their last conversation two days ago had begun like so many, with Professor Artura and his assistant making tea in the break room and asking Nyota and Spock to join them.

"Spock," the Andorian professor had said with his lisping accent, "your tea will get cold if you don't drink it quickly."

Nyota laughed softly.

"Just hold your hand around your mug if it does," she said. Spock looked quickly at his mug and Nyota laughed again.

"I mean, you could heat up that mug just by touching it," she said. "You're hot enough." Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I assume you mean that my core temperature is higher than the temperature of the tea."

"I think the cadet is making a pun," the Andorian professor said silkily. "Surely you know the double meaning of the word hot in human vernacular. And perhaps she is making a comparison, too—saying that she is a tea mug."

Professor Artura's assistant spluttered. Nyota darted a glance at Spock, who felt himself flush. He considered putting down his tea and leaving for the lab—but such behavior would probably draw more attention, not less, to his being flustered.

In the past, Spock had suspected the blue-skinned Andorian of getting pleasure from Spock's discomfort—but until now the jibes had been more playful than malicious.

Or perhaps not malicious, but too close for comfort. Most Andorians were not telepaths—surely Professor Artura did not know that Spock was having trouble during his meditation time—his unwanted ruminations about Nyota disturbing his focus.

The best defense was a good offense, he decided, and he set down his mug and said, "Or perhaps the cadet simply means what she says, that Vulcan physiology is not the same as humans."

Professor Artura shook his head and rose, and his assistant followed. As soon as they were out of the break room, Nyota placed her hand flat on the table between them and said, "I'm sorry he misconstrued what I said. I didn't mean to embarrass you—"

Before Spock could respond that he was not, in fact, embarrassed, Nyota added, "Although, you could have replied that I could cool a mug of tea with my human touch."

Spock hesitated only a moment before saying, "But the professor compared you to the tea mug, not me. We would have to change the metaphor."

And suddenly the double entendre crashed into his consciousness and this time he did flush—hard and visibly, and Nyota jumped up so quickly that she knocked the table and splashed tea over the edge of her mug.

He replays this scene multiple times in his mind—and then suddenly his parents' house looms before him.

A/N: If this entertained you at all, please let me know! Up next, scenes from Vulcan.

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	2. Refuge

**Refuge**

Disclaimer: I am borrowing these characters for my own purposes!

His parents' home is designed to fit organically into the landscape; the outer walls are curved to divert the worst sand storms, the deep windows keep out the afternoon sun. Spock appreciates none of this practicality as he parks his hired transport and lifts his duffle to his shoulder.

As usual the front door is open to allow the easterly wind to cool the house. Spock pauses briefly before passing over the threshold. He hears distant sounds from the kitchen and moves resolutely forward.

"Spock!" his mother says when he steps into the large kitchen where she is slicing a purple, globed fruit that Spock knows his father particularly enjoys. "When did you get here?"

Then his mother's smile abruptly leaves her face and she hastily puts down the knife and reaches for her son. She places her hand on his cheek and frowns.

"Is something wrong? Are you sick?"

"No, Mother," Spock says, but he recognizes the impatience in his voice and he tries to modify it. "The Academy is on break, and I had the opportunity to come home for a few days. That is all."

His mother does not respond but tilts her head and peers at him closely.

"As you wish," she says, and Spock knows that what she means is you will tell me more later. Then she adds, "Your father is outside on the terrace. Why don't you take this to him?" She places the fruit in a small decorative bowl and starts to hand it to him.

Spock pulls back and says, "I would like to put my things away first."

His mother eyes him again.

"As you wish," she says once more, and Spock knows that later she will corner him for a long conversation. He is resigned to it; indeed, part of him welcomes it. He needs to talk to her—not about his growing, unwanted attachment to Nyota—he is not sure he can reveal that to her—but about his changing sense of who he is.

But not now. Now he wants to retreat to the familiarity of his childhood room—the orderly books and notes; his early experimental equipment organized and laid out as carefully as a shrine; his one prize, an ancient Vulcan shard of grooved pottery found in the desert during his kahs'wan, mounted on the wall above his bed. His overly familiar conversations with Nyota—his playful and inappropriate innuendoes—have set him adrift. His room, he hopes, will help him feel anchored to a steadier self.

He picks the duffel from the floor and turns to head to his room. His father is standing in the doorway, and Spock feels, as he always does in the presence of his father, a faint flicker of his disapproval and disappointment.

"Father," Spock says, lowering the duffle once more to the floor. "The Academy is on break and I—"

When his father interrupts him, it is not with the rudeness that a human would employ, but with a directness and dedication to efficiency that characterizes most Vulcans.

"Have you seen the news feeds from Earth?"

"No," Spock says, "I just arrived—"

For a moment Spock is confused. His father's implacable expression wavers, almost too slightly to notice, and then Sarek says, "I didn't know you were coming. I thought you were still in San Francisco. On the news—"

Sarek's voice roughens and Spock steps forward in alarm. Before he speaks, Sarek pulls back and his voice is once more even and detached.

"Some sort of seismic event," Sarek says. "Twenty-two minutes ago. In San Francisco."

X X X X X X X X X

All day Amanda has fought a mild headache. Usually gentle exercise and a weak infusion of savas are enough to ward off most aches and pains, but today the dull throbbing in her temples has been relentless. If she were still living on Earth she would have suspected an impending dip in the barometric pressure was to blame, but Vulcan's skies are as sunny and hot as ever.

Twice Sarek has wandered out of his study to check on her—but both times she has shooed him away, reassuring him that humans sometimes suffer headaches for no known reason. To prove her resilience, she has insisted on preparing a special mid-day meal in addition to meeting a deadline for an article she had promised to write for a Vulcan education journal.

For all her resolve, by late afternoon Amanda seriously considers lying down to try to ease the ache in her head. The sunlight streaming through the window makes her wink with pain; her stomach feels fluttery and she realizes that she will not want to eat again today. What then, should she do for Sarek? She pulls out a large kasa fruit from the storage bin and begins slicing it to offer later for his evening meal.

The wind blowing through the house shifts almost imperceptibly, as if it is momentarily blocked, and Amanda is about to turn to look when she hears a soft scrape on the floor behind her. Nevertheless, she is startled to see Spock standing there—and with her mother's eye she takes in his slightly rumpled clothes, the shadow of a beard across his chin, the large duffel that he gingerly lowers to the floor. He looks thinner than she remembers, and gaunt, and with that realization, she becomes alarmed.

"Is something wrong? Are you sick?"

Spock flashes her a look of mild annoyance and Amanda is instantly reassured when she touches his cheek and senses...first his affection, and then his relief to be home. And underneath that, she senses his evasion. He isn't telling her everything.

She is neither surprised nor distressed when he balks at seeing his father right away. As he leaves the kitchen she sighs; she reminds herself what she always reminds herself, that she must wait for Sarek and Spock to find their own way to each other. She can't manufacture a false peace between them...though she is tempted to try.

Now that Spock is here Amanda forgets her earlier resolution to lie down. He has been traveling and will be tired and hungry-she goes outside to survey the hot pepper plants she has transplanted from Earth in large clay containers. Spock, in particular, has always favored the dark orange peppers, sliced and sautéed with a turnip-like vegetable native to Vulcan. Careful not to touch the peppers themselves, Amanda breaks several at the stalk and takes them back into the kitchen.

As she places them in the sink she hears Sarek speaking—so Spock has not been able to retreat to his room after all.

She feels Sarek calling her at the same time that she hears him. Before she can turn around, he is beside her at the sink, his hand reaching for hers. In an instant his concern reverberates in her mind, and she knows what he knows-that an earthquake has shaken San Francisco, that Spock is in the study trying to reach the Academy through the subspace video connection.

"Was anyone hurt?" Amanda asks, but Sarek shakes his head.

"Unknown," he says. "The news is preliminary."

Amanda starts toward the closed study door but Sarek doesn't let go of her hand and she stops. They share a glance—his concern is for Spock's privacy. She sends a prickle of irritation through their fingertips—I'm his mother! —and Sarek raises his brows and gives her a dry look.

Sarek tugs on Amanda's hand again and they walk into the large room where they entertain visitors from time to time. While Amanda settles herself on the trim sofa, Sarek flicks on the monitor to the news feed. Damage from the earthquake appears to be minimal and confined to the older portions of the outlying community. A water treatment plant has suspended service until a broken main can be repaired—an inconvenience more than anything else—and minor injuries caused by falling objects and overturned equipment dominate the news stories. Amanda breathes a sigh of relief and realizes with a start that her headache is gone.

When at last Spock opens the study door, Amanda calls to him to join her on the sofa. He does, though he sits ramrod straight and does not lean back against the cushions. Amanda reaches up and touches his shoulder, and Spock turns to meet her gaze. From across the room, Sarek turns off the monitor and sits on an adjacent chair. No one speaks.

Finally Amanda can stand the silence no longer and she says, "Were you able to get through to anyone?" Spock nods, a short dip of his head, and he answers, "The campus security office reports all buildings secure—though some structural damage might show up on closer examination. They have turned off the power until the grid can be inspected."

"And?" Amanda prompts, and Spock adds, "I was unable to contact anyone else."

Amanda lowers her hand from her son's shoulder. "I suppose most of the students were not on campus anyway if this is their break," she says, and to her surprise her words cause Spock to furrow his brow.

"Perhaps," he says, "though many of them live too far away to leave campus during the interim break."

"I'm sure everyone is okay," Amanda says, and then she puts up her hand as Spock opens his mouth to speak. "Don't say it. I know I don't know that for certain—consider it my human need to comfort myself with words."

"Or to offer up a mystical incantation," Sarek says, rising from his chair and reaching out his hand to give Amanda a lift from the sofa. "I will never understand the human faith in the power of words..."

"Then let me teach you some powerful words," she says, grinning up at him. "Like, come here and help me in the kitchen."

She is dimly aware of Spock looking at them curiously as she twines her arm around Sarek's and leads him away. At the threshold of the kitchen doorway she unhooks her arm and lets Sarek walk through first, but she takes a moment to look over her shoulder at Spock, still sitting on the sofa, still looking in her direction, the expression on his face a mixture of worry and distraction.

A/N: If you enjoyed this so far, let me know! It helps me keep going. Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her suggestions!


	3. Not Enough Information

**Not Enough Information**

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine!

_Worry is illogical. _No matter how he tries to use this as his mantra during his meditation, Spock is unable to concentrate. His parents have long ago retired for bed—he should, too, but he is unable to let go of his... _worry_. He can dress up the feeling and re-label it as something less provocative—_concern_, perhaps, or _care_—but as his first night home drags on and he is unable to meditate, Spock at last admits that he is worried about Nyota.

She may be uncomfortable with limited water and power, but the odds are overwhelming that she is safe. He tries to picture her, as he often does, standing outside the lab building, in twilight—smiling and waving at him as she turns and walks across the quad toward her dormitory--an actual image he has filed away from a month ago when they had worked late setting up a new program for some advanced phonology students.

The next day she had scolded him, mildly, for letting her walk off into the dark without more worry—or concern or care.

" You stood there so long I thought you were going to offer to walk me back to my dorm," she had said during their first break of the morning, "but you just stood there, and I kept looking back, but you never moved."

Spock knew her well enough to recognize the dissonance between the content of her words and her tone—he knew this is one way she teased him, but he had rarely tried to return the banter. On that morning, Nyota was in a particularly sunny mood—a difficult assignment in one of her classes had not only gone well but had garnered her praise from a demanding professor—and she wanted to share her excitement. They were in the break room, this time alone, and Nyota was brewing some coffee for a change.

"Your dorm was not on my route home," Spock said, "nor did I think you needed assistance finding your way."

Nyota had laughed and replied, "But after dark all the rules change."

"The rules?" Spock had said, accepting the cup of coffee that she placed on the table in front of him.

"Well, not rules, exactly, but patterns of behavior. You have to be more careful in the dark—people behave differently there—you might lose your way, for instance, or trip up, or…"

Spock could hear the slight hitch in her voice as she continued. "…or, you could get confused in the dark….or think you see things that aren't there…and it helps if you have someone to tell you…"

Her voice trailed slowly and she said, "…if you are on the wrong track…."

As she spoke she lowered her cup to the table and raised her eyes until she was gazing at Spock, and for an uncomfortable moment he was certain that she was speaking not literally but metaphorically, that she was trying to communicate something more with her words than he was used to hearing. He imagined reaching out to touch her fingertips cradling her coffee cup—to sort out what she was telling him. His alarm at that impulse brought him back suddenly, and he said, "I fail to see how you might ever need such assistance," and Nyota said, "No, I don't guess you would." And then she said again, "No, you wouldn't," and Spock felt rebuked somehow.

His chronometer is still set to San Francisco's time—it is the middle of the night there so he does not call Nyota's comm but tries to send another note to her computer. Within minutes it bounces back with a notice that the connections are still down. The news feeds must have minimized the damage, then, he thinks. Surely communications would be back up by now otherwise. This idea invites a flutter of panic—his source of information is second-hand, as is everyone else's, but that thought doesn't settle him. He gives up trying to meditate and stretches across his bed.

Although he doesn't sleep, Spock drifts into a haziness that is interrupted when the sound of his father's transport rushing away makes him sit up. He dresses quickly and leaves to go running through the dark canyons surrounding his parents' home. Eridani 40 will not rise for another hour, at least, and Spock welcomes the challenge of running without turning his ankle or getting lost. He thinks—again—about Nyota's comment—_you could get confused in the dark_—and he sprints faster and harder, relishing the burn in his muscles and the ache in his throat.

X X X X X X X X X

Amanda has always been the late riser in the family. In the hour before sunrise, she is dimly aware of Sarek showering and dressing—and then the muted sounds in the kitchen as he prepares himself an early meal. She has fallen back asleep by the time he leaves the house for the trip to his office in the city.

Soon afterwards she is startled awake by the sound of the front door closing again. Then she remembers—Spock is home. For a moment she considers rising and making him some tea, but he has probably gone out for an early run and won't be back for some time. She hears nothing else and closes her eyes once more.

It is still early when she finally gets out of bed and slips on her heavy robe. As she walks down the hallway she notices that the door to Spock's room is ajar. She reaches out to pull it to and sees that Spock is lying on his back on the bed, his left elbow crooked and his arm resting under his head on his pillow. He is dressed in loose athletic clothes—so he has been out running—but he is clearly asleep now.

Her hand still on the edge of the door, Amanda takes a tentative step into his room and stops for a moment to regard him. When Sarek is asleep, his face is composed—as it often is when he is awake—but Spock is an open book. When she looks at him now, Amanda can see a slight sheen on his skin, the result of the heat of Vulcan and the early exercise. His eyelashes fan darkly against his pale skin; his lips are parted a fraction. Yet to Amanda he looks unsettled, the faintest frown across his brow.

His hair is uncharacteristically tousled, and this leads Amanda to step into his room and move to his bedside.

Carefully, slowly, quietly, Amanda reaches down and smoothes her fingers across the top of Spock's head. His hair is silky and slightly sweaty and Amanda's breath catches—the touch takes her back instantly to when he was a small boy sitting beside her, allowing her to circle him with her arms, her chin resting on his head, as she read to him or they talked over the events of their day. Through her fingertips she feels the familiar effervescence that she associates with Spock's mind, and she knows that she has awakened him.

"I'm sorry," she says, as Spock lowers his arm and squints up at her. "Go on back to sleep."

But Spock unfurls his body and sits upright. "I have rested enough," he says, and Amanda nods and looks around his room.

"Were you comfortable last night? You look tired this morning."

Spock is quiet for a beat and Amanda has to force herself to be patient. They have been apart for so long that she has forgotten the rhythm of their relationship—the necessary silences and careful replies. She sighs, and at that Spock looks up and says, "I am grateful for the time to rest. This has been a taxing semester."

Something in his tone of voice warns Amanda not to press him yet. Instead, she touches the palm of his hand and says, "Here, let's get something to eat, and then you can give me a ride to the market. I thought we'd try one of those recipes in that new cookbook you brought."

A few minutes later they are sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, their hands cupped around mugs of steaming tea. The heat of the day has begun in earnest, but neither Amanda nor Spock seems to notice. They drink a second cup of hot tea and then Amanda slices some flat bread and sets it on the table.

"Have you heard anything else about the earthquake?" she asks, picking up a piece of bread and dipping it into her tea. She watches Spock carefully as she does and is rewarded by noticing a slight tremor in his hand as he reaches for his own piece of bread.

"Communications are apparently still patchy," he says, and then he adds, "I tried to contact several colleagues last night but could not get through. I will try again soon."

Amanda sits back and considers what to say next. As much as she hates to admit it, Sarek is right—Spock values his privacy and might resent her questions as intrusions. However, wanting information and not asking for it is _illogical, _Amanda thinks.

"What has been so taxing about this semester in particular?" she asks, and she can tell immediately that her forthright approach is the wrong tack. Spock stiffens slightly and picks up another piece of bread before speaking.

"The work is…less challenging than I would like," he says.

"I thought you were teaching an extra class this semester," Amanda says, truly baffled. "I expected you to say that your workload was too heavy."

Spock glares at her from lowered eyes—and Amanda laughs softly. Trust a Vulcan to be offended if you suggest a lack of competence in anything.

"The workload is not the problem, Mother," Spock says.

"Then what—"

When he was an adolescent, Spock had spent one summer visiting teenaged cousins on Earth. He had come back adept at making eye rolls of disgust. He gives her one now.

Amanda laughs out loud at this, and Spock is also amused, though his expression does not change.

"Come on, get dressed," she says. "Let's go shopping before it gets any later."

Clearly she will have to winkle out whatever is troubling Spock more indirectly. She stands abruptly and starts clearing the table.

"I will dress and join you shortly," Spock says. "I want to try again to make some calls."

Amanda watches him as he heads to the study and closes the door behind him. This may take longer than she had imagined.

**A/N: Please take a moment to leave me a note! Your reviews are my only pay! Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her excellent editorial help. **


	4. Too Much Information

**Too Much Information**

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, though I am using them for my own purposes!

Spock almost never dreams, and this morning is no exception, but when his mother wakes him later, he feels as if a weight has settled in his chest while he slept. He can tell that she is ready to talk—but he dodges her questions and reluctantly agrees to drive her to the market.

Amanda has lived on Vulcan for so long that she doesn't seem to notice the attention they always draw when they go out in public together, but Spock notices it, intensely, and feels a ghost of resentment when people turn to look at him with his mother. Their stares are more curious than impolite, but he resents them nevertheless…for what they say about their unlikely pairing—human mother and Vulcan son. As often as he draws looks on Earth, he does not feel as _judged_ as he does when Vulcans examine him.

"Where's that book?" Amanda says as Spock engages the drive of the hired transport and they head to the city. She is sitting beside him in the front of the little hover car, her old-fashioned notepad and stylus on her lap. The cookbook—a gift from Spock—is at her feet, and she picks it up and turns to the recipe she had noted earlier.

"Here it is," she says, and Spock looks down quickly before guiding the car into the main thoroughfare. "I thought we might try this recipe tonight—no, wait, this won't do. It calls for cinnamon—authentic Moroccan food, all right. Just enough to make your father sick."

"Father?" Spock asks, and Amanda continues.

"I never use cinnamon—not after we found out how your father reacts to it. Have you tried it?"

"If I have, I was unaware," Spock says, and Amanda chuckles. "Oh, you would know if you had tried it. It is fragrant and strong—and some Vulcans get ill from it. Or…not exactly ill. More like a bad cocoa reaction. I remember reading once that it is one of the only real human aphrodisiacs—something about the way it sensitizes certain pheromone receptors."

Spock is surprised to feel himself flush. He looks at his mother and sees that she is smiling broadly. This doesn't bode well.

"Now I remember," Amanda says, and Spock keeps his attention carefully on the landscape hurtling past. "I had known your father for only a little while and I lived in an apartment right across the avenue from this quaint little Moroccan restaurant. They didn't have a menu or anything—you just sat down and told the chef what you wanted to eat."

"That sounds inefficient," Spock says, turning off the main thoroughfare onto a smaller side road.

"People don't go out to eat to be efficient!" Amanda exclaims. "If you want to be efficient, you stay home and cook whatever is at hand."

"As I usually do," Spock says, though he flushes again remembering a night only a week ago when he and Nyota had eaten an evening meal together at a diner near the campus. He had not intended to go there; it was another night of working late and Nyota had announced that she was going to have to go somewhere other than the cafeteria—which would surely be closed by now. Spock had walked her out of the lab building and had stood there, once again unmoving, once again expected to do something—and on an odd impulse, he had offered to walk her to the diner.

"I thought this wasn't on your way," she had teased him as they walked across the quad--she hugging her jacket across her chest and he with his hands clasped behind his back. Despite the cold and the late hour, they had strolled rather than walked….curious, he thinks now, that neither seemed to be in a hurry.

The diner was almost empty and the meal itself was unremarkable—though when he tries to call up the details, he discovers that he is still experiencing that peculiar amnesia that has troubled him for weeks, as though he has gone blind.

No, not blind. For he can recall every detail of Nyota herself…the tiny mole that decorates the side of her neck, the whorl of her ears, a stubbornly errant curl, tiny and dark, that always escapes whatever clasp or band she uses to pull her hair away from her face.

He has not been blind. He has been wearing blinders.

After the meal they had walked in silence back across the quad to the lab, and at the outside door they had paused. He had another simulation to run but she was going on to her dorm. As Nyota started to speak, a group of laughing students walked past and she fell silent until they were out of earshot.

"Thank you again for going with me to dinner," she said, and Spock had given a short nod. The moment stretched on and she seemed to be waiting for something. He considered their earlier conversation about walking in the dark and he said, "Do you require an escort to your dorm?"

At that she gave a small smile, though Spock sensed no humor behind it. Of course, the lighting was patchy in front of the lab and Nyota's face was partially obscured by shadow.

"An escort? No, I can make my way alone."

And then, in a brighter voice, she added, "Good night. Good luck with that last program."

In the past they have had many bantering conversations about luck and the human propensity for believing in it. "Luck is nothing more than a random series of events whose unfolding is neither predictable nor quantifiable," he usually recites when Nyota wishes him luck in jest. Her trilling laugh at his comment never fails to amuse him, though he cannot understand why.

"Good luck!" she called again, waving her arm as she turned and headed away. For a second Spock debated starting after her, but he could think of no reason for doing so.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," he had said aloud, but she was already too far away to hear him. He watched her until she was swallowed by the dark and only then had he made his way back inside and up the stairwell to the lab.

"You men," Amanda says, bringing Spock back from his reverie, and she motions to him to turn into the parking area of the nearest market. "The Moroccan chef was a terrific cook, but he had never cooked for a Vulcan. Your Father and I were supposed to go to some sort of show afterwards, too…we never did get there."

"Mother," Spock says as he parks the hover car and presses the door release, "that is more than I wanted to know."

X X X X X X X

Sarek's transport is parked outside the house when Amanda and Spock return home. Amanda leaves Spock the task of carrying in the groceries while she goes inside to find Sarek. Even before she enters the house she knows something is wrong—though their bond she senses a dark emotion she cannot name, something Sarek rarely projects.

His study door is closed but she knows he is inside—she opens the door and sees him sitting behind his desk, his elbows resting in front of him and his fingers steepled together.

"Close the door," he says brusquely, and Amanda reaches behind her and quickly pushes it to.

"Sarek, what's the matter—"

Instead of answering, Sarek points to the blinking communications console.

"This came while you were out," he says, touching the controls and adjusting the sound so Amanda can hear it. A formal, stilted voice of an elderly Vulcan man speaks for a few moments on the recording. Amanda feels the rush of Sarek's dark emotion again, and she sits down, her stomach churning.

"Spock must have contacted her when he arrived yesterday," Sarek says, his eyes unblinking, his breathing short and brisk.

"Play it again," Amanda says, and Sarek touches the console and the voice begins again.

"_S'chn T'gai Spock, please be advised that K'Loh'r T'Mir T'Pring is unavailable for contact at the current time. Her family regrets any inconvenience this may cause you."_

"That's it?" Amanda asks, but Sarek does not answer, and she doesn't expect him to. Of course this is it. Her own fury blazes up and drowns out the darkness Sarek has already expressed.

Amanda's mind is racing—is this why Spock has come home? He has been distracted, and somewhat reticent to speak—and, yes, thinner and paler than usual—but she would not have guessed that he was in the beginning throes of pon farr. She looks up at Sarek and can see that he is reaching the same conclusion—Spock's behavior does not seem to be the gradual, rocky descent into _plak tow_.

"Of course, he might manifest it differently than a full Vulcan," Sarek says to Amanda's unspoken question. She shakes her head—that can't be it.

"But Sarek, even if he did—if he does—T'Pring has no right—"

With her right hand she presses the ache in her breastbone; with her left she reaches for Sarek and he holds out his fingertips to her. She takes a breath and attempts to still the anger she feels—not just at T'Pring, but the older anger she feels towards Sarek for insisting on Spock's bonding. It has been a source of conflict for them for years—erupting now and then when Amanda hauls out her other grievances for airing.

If he weren't feeling an equal fury now, Amanda would have spoken her disapproval yet again, but she realizes that she doesn't need to—that, indeed, Sarek feels the snub so keenly at this moment that he is ready to acknowledge his error.

"This is intolerable," Amanda says, and to her surprise, Sarek answers, "Agreed."

"Then what are you going to do about it?" she says, and once more Sarek surprises her.

"It is Spock's decision. I will do what he wants me to do."

A/N: Reviews are the only payment fanfic writers get paid! Please take a moment to leave one! Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her help—she took time out of her busy schedule writing "The Native" to read over several drafts of my story.


	5. Hello Goodbye

**Hello Goodbye**

Spock's reaction surprises Amanda. When they call him to the study and play the recording for him, his expression flickers a shadow of hurt and then returns to a mask of Vulcan propriety.

"Are you experiencing _pon farr_?"

Sarek is clearly uncomfortable asking, but Amanda is grateful that he has. Spock seems to go inside himself briefly, as though he is holding an internal conversation. Amanda recognizes this as his typical stall tactic, one that had made her impatient with him when he was younger.

"Well?" she says, and Spock comes back from the distance and shakes his head.

"I do not believe so," he says, "though something curious did happen to me on the shuttle here."

"On the shuttle?"

"I was approached by a young woman who offered me assistance. At the time, I thought she was responding to my….need for rest. It may be that she assumed—"

Sarek's eyebrows are in his bangs, Amanda notes. Extreme surprise from him, then.

"Spock," Amanda begins again, "if you aren't—if you haven't-then why did you contact T'Pring? Have you been in communication with her?"

Amanda feels Sarek stiffen—and she gives him a quick look that dares him to stop her from questioning their son. From the corner of her eye she sees Spock watching their silent communion. Perhaps this is what he wants from T'Pring right now—what he should have already had with her—a connection to anchor him while he finds his way at Starfleet.

"We have not been in communication," Spock says softly. "We…do not…I have not been aware of our bond for some time."

Amanda sucks in a breath and feels a new flash of anger. But it is Sarek who speaks next.

"It may be that this bond is incomplete—or broken—or that T'Pring is not suitable."

"Or I am not suitable," Spock says with a bitterness that makes Amanda's heart ache. Here again is the familiar burden that he has carried all his life, his uncertainty about who he is—and yes, Amanda knows that as hard as he struggles to conceal it, to beat it back, his anger with her, too, and Sarek, for giving him a life that he does not know how to navigate.

Spock looks up and meets Amanda's eyes.

"I wanted to meet with her to see if…the connection was still there. Or if I should seek elsewhere—"

Spock looks down and Amanda steps closer to him and reaches out her hand to touch his wrist.

"Are you happy at the Academy?" she asks, and behind her she senses Sarek's impatience. He will think this is an unnecessary line of questioning. Spock will, too, she knows, but she decides to ask anyway.

"Do you have friends there? Are you lonely?"

And finally Spock's mouth quirks up a fraction and he looks at her.

"Do not worry yourself, Mother," he says, gently pulling back his arm. "My work is on occasion less than interesting, but I have many colleagues who make it worthwhile."

Amanda starts to speak again but Spock stops her with a slight motion of his hand.

"And I have companions who make life less lonely, less….dark."

With that, Spock asks his parents to excuse him and he goes to his room. As his footsteps echo down the hall, Amanda feels the warmth of Sarek's body as he moves beside her and gently takes her fingers in his own. When they were across the room from each other, she had felt his sorrow like a boulder on her own shoulders, but now it presses into her so hard that she gasps. And somehow her gasp relieves his pain—fractionally, to be sure, but relief nonetheless—and she leans into him and sighs.

X X X X X X X X X X

"Don't forget the _plomeek_ and _fori_," Amanda says, handing Spock two small packages of vacuum-packed vegetables.

"Mother," he says, and Amanda waits to hear the touch of impatience in his tone—and is surprised that it isn't there. Instead, Spock stops rifling through his duffle and pulls himself upright, looking at his mother while he accepts the packages. Something has changed inside him, Amanda thinks, though she cannot imagine that this short visit home has done more than give him some time to rest.

Unless, of course, being freed from the bond with T'Pring has also freed him in other ways. That may be possible, Amanda thinks. After all, he did say that he wanted to see if he should look elsewhere—at the time she hadn't pressed him to explain, though now she wishes she had. He'll tell her eventually, she hopes—and she remembers that other odd thing he had said, that his acquaintances have made his life less _dark_. A metaphor from Spock—not the way he usually expresses himself. He _ha_s changed, _is_ changing. She reaches up and hugs him, and he leans forward slightly and puts his arms around her back.

The hired car has to be returned by mid-day so Sarek has said his farewells before leaving for work. When Spock loads his duffle in the transport, Amanda feels tears well up—this is a surprise. Most of the time she can master the quietude necessary for living among Vulcans—aware that beneath their implacable behavior, the people of this planet find the display of her emotions distressing, uncomfortable—reminders of their own need for stern control, perhaps, or, in her uncharitable moments, Amanda imagines that they are jealous of her ability to laugh and smile and cry—or not at her ability to feel them, but at her ability—her willingness—to show them.

If Spock sees her tears he will be just as uncomfortable, Amanda knows, so she brushes her face quickly and snuffles into her sleeve. She watches him as he places his duffle in the front seat of the hover—he is still pale, and too thin, and slightly more distracted than usual, but he looks less careworn—and she is certain that the secret of his lightened mood lies in the subspace video logs.

Two nights ago she had heard him in a lengthy conversation with someone on Earth—through the closed study door she could hear his voice, muted at times, at other times more animated, punctuated by long silences and quiet words, and then when the call was over, he came from the study with a brighter look and a quicker step.

"You were able to get in touch with someone?" Amanda had asked as he had joined her in the kitchen where she was cleaning up from the evening meal.

"My lab assistant," he said. "She did not go home for the break and has been without power until today."

"She's okay?" Amanda asked, watching Spock as he gathered up the plates and set them in the dish sink.

"Some of the consoles in the lab were overturned, but everything else appears to be undamaged."

"I meant your assistant. Is she okay?"

Spock sprayed water over the plates and said nothing for a minute. Finally he turned off the water and said, "If by _okay_ you mean that she is physically unharmed, then the answer is yes. However…."

Amanda wiped the table with a dishcloth, careful not to look at Spock—he had been skittish about revealing much about his personal life lately, and something about the way he said _lab assistant_—some pitch or tone in his voice—had alerted Amanda to a hidden story.

"Mother," he said suddenly, "is it typical of humans to express anger even when they are happy?"

This was not the comment Amanda had expected, and she was momentarily nonplussed.

"No, not generally," she said, and then Spock added, "My assistant sounded as though she were angry with me—because she was unaware that I had come home. And yet…she also said that she was pleased that I had not been hurt in the earthquake. This appears to be a contradiction—"

Spock started at Amanda's laugh, and she quickly put her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

"Oh, Spock, yes, in that case, it is quite logical—or at least typical—to be angry and happy. She was worried about you."

"But why angry? Particularly now that she knows that I was not there during the earthquake and am unharmed."

Instead of answering, Amanda had circled his waist with her arm—and he had not, as he often did, pulled away.

This morning he leans down to take her hands in his. Again she feels that bubbly effervescence that is Spock's own consciousness—his delight in learning, his need to prove himself—and she knows he senses her sorrow that he has to leave.

"Don't stay away so long," she says as he steps away and opens the hover car door. And then, feeling impish, she says, "And bring some of your companions with you next time. I'd like to meet them."

Spock flushes—she can tell from the distance that she has embarrassed him. So, the phone call—the _lab assistant_-the relief he had shown when Sarek had arranged a healer for the annulment from T'Pring-something's up. She knows it.

"Be safe!" she says as he sits in the transport and pulls the door shut. "Good luck!" she shouts. And then in a cloud of red dust he is gone.

**A/N: One more chapter in this story—look for it on Tuesday. **

**To everyone who was waiting for Spock to "spill the beans" to his parents, he's not ready yet—in this story he's in that funny limbo stage of falling in love without realizing what is happening (or am I the only one who's gone through that!)….but that doesn't mean that Amanda isn't clever enough to have figured it out.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! I'm also the beta for StarTrekFanWriter, and your reviews keep up working for you! Check out her current story, "The Native," for more Amanda/Sarek goodness.**


	6. Final Slips

**Final Slips**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters!**

Amanda doesn't call it snooping. She calls it _searching for sufficient data_—that is, when Sarek catches her in the act.

She is so absorbed in scrolling through the subspace video logs in the study that she does not hear him come in—though just before he opens the door, she senses his presence. So much for trying to hide her purpose, then. Even as he walks into the room, he knows what she's up to.

"Eighty-nine!" she says loudly, partly because she is genuinely surprised, but also because she hopes to pique Sarek's curiosity long enough to keep him at bay while she finishes her investigation. "Spock called the same number eighty-nine times in four days. Tell me that isn't significant."

Instead of answering, Sarek raises an eyebrow in an uncanny resemblance of his son. He walks around the desk to the subspace communications console and stands beside Amanda, his fingers swiftly rushing over the touch pad, his gaze looking through the most recent log.

"As you can see," he says with a touch of asperity, "most of those calls were unanswered. Considering the power failure in San Francisco in the aftermath of the earthquake, repeated attempts would be likely before finally being able to connect. I fail to see how multiple calls have any significance beyond that."

Amanda knows she is gloating but the pleasure is too keen to stop.

"So that's your logical explanation, is it?"

Sarek opens his mouth to speak and Amanda cuts him off.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen?" Sarek asks, and Amanda reaches around him and punches up another screen.

"The calls were answered seventeen times. In four days, Spock talked to someone seventeen times."

Sarek sighs.

"He has many colleagues at the Academy—"

"He has seventeen calls to the same number. He has four calls to other numbers—all four begin with the Academy prefix."

Sarek laces his fingers together and sits down on the bench next to the console.

"And those seventeen calls?"

Amanda is ready for him.

"They were to a private comm. I knew he had made one long call that second night home, but I had no idea about the other ones!"

"And why should you know about them?" Sarek asks--impatiently, Amanda thinks--and she dials back her enthusiasm.

"I do appreciate Spock's need for privacy," she says. "It's just that I'm…worried—"

Sarek starts to stand, and Amanda quickly adds, "And _curious_."

There. Now she has given a reason for snooping that any Vulcan can understand—if not condone.

Sarek reaches out his hand toward the console and says, "Now that your curiosity has been satisfied, I will delete the log records."

"Wait!" Amanda blurts out. "I'm…not finished."

Sarek cocks an eyebrow and she says, "If I back-dial the records, I can see who the number belongs to—the user profile will be there---maybe a holo, too—"

"Amanda."

She hears the rebuke in Sarek's tone even as she feels his displeasure through their bond.

"Spock has a right to his privacy, just as you do," he says. For a moment she considers arguing with him—Spock is their son, he is alone and far away from home, the owner of the comm might be an important reference point some day—but she knows Sarek is right. What if she did know who Spock was calling? Could she ever actually use that information? She tries to imagine herself speaking to Spock about it and fails.

"Very well," she says, rising and taking Sarek's hand. "Go ahead and wipe the logs."

She sighs, and Sarek reacts to her mild sorrow with a faint frown. Broadcast this way, her emotions can be as irritating as a splinter to him, she knows, but she is, after all, human.

Sarek squeezes her fingers and says, "When Spock is ready, he will tell you what you want to know."

Such pronouncements about the future are not typical of Vulcans, and Amanda knows what it has cost Sarek to make it. She looks up in his eyes, then, and links her elbow through his.

"I'm sure you are right," she says as she reaches over to the console and hits the delete button. "Now, just the other day I was thinking about that little Moroccan restaurant you and I used to visit…"

X X X X X X X X

He should have eaten more before leaving his parents' house, and now he seems to be—as Nyota would say—out of luck. The selections of foodstuffs for sale in the shuttle port are both unappealing and expensive. With a shrug that is more mental than physical, Spock resigns himself to a hungry ride back to San Francisco.

The shuttle to Earth is only half as crowded as the one he had taken home. None of the passengers—all Vulcans—take any notice of him as he shepherds his duffel in front of him as he walks down the narrow aisle.

Several rows back he stows his duffel and then looks down at the woman sitting beside his designated seat. An electric jolt darts through him and before he can stop himself, he takes in a sharp breath.

The noise catches the attention of his seatmate and she looks up at him for the first time. She is younger than his father—with striking long, curly dark hair and irises so black that her gaze is unnerving.

Dimly, Spock is aware that another passenger trying to board is waiting for him to sit—and with a quick nod of apology he moves out of the aisle and settles himself awkwardly in his seat.

"Your business on Vulcan is concluded so quickly?" the woman says, and Spock swallows and answers, "My visit corresponded to a scheduled break for students at Starfleet Academy. Classes resume tomorrow."

"And you are a teacher there? At the Academy?"

Spock turns his head quickly and gives a slight frown. "And a programmer. But I thought you knew—"

The Vulcan woman does not move, nor does her expression change, but Spock senses a change, an expansion, in her attitude towards him—a warmth that catches him off-guard.

"Spock," she says almost softly, "your thoughts are your own. I was careful not to intrude. My only concern was the bond, and how to shield you and T'Pring from any lasting ill-effects."

Only a few times in his life has Spock been so flustered that he could think of no response. This is one of those times. His thoughts are a whirlwind of shame and relief—images of this Vulcan healer, T'Quill, one hand resting lightly on his psi points, her other hand touching T'Pring—and T'Pring herself, coldly beautiful, her distaste only thinly and rudely disguised—an overheard conversation between his Father and T'Pau once the annulment was final_--"Spock must make his own decisions now." _Was this only yesterday? Spock feels a rush of annoyance with himself for being so distraught.

T'Quill seems to recognize Spock's difficulty and she says lightly, "If you do not mind, I wish to switch from Vulcan to Standard now. As you are fluent, the practice will help me reorient myself for my sojourn on Earth."

The abrupt change of language and topic have the desired effect.

"How long will you be on Earth?" Spock asks, and T'Quill pulls out a chronometer from her pocket and thumbs the tiny screen.

"Unknown," she says, "though when I go, I am usually there for some months."

Spock is genuinely surprised and his tone of voice shows it.

"Indeed? I am…astonished….that a Vulcan healer would find much to do on Earth."

T'Quill continues to thumb her chronometer while she answers. "Wherever Vulcans and humans are together—"

And then she seems to think better of her slip of the tongue, and she eyes Spock. Is she referring to his parents—his mixed heritage? Or is she making a broader statement about the difficulties of living among humans? Either way, Spock feels a tendril of resentment.

"I meant no offense," she says, and Spock is irritated that he has shown his emotions—or that, as a powerful telepath, she has picked them up despite his shields.

"I enjoy my time on Earth among humans," T'Quill says. Her words are matter-of-fact, and once again Spock is caught off-guard.

"I particularly enjoy their humor," she says. "And you—do you enjoy your time among the humans of Earth?"

For a moment Spock considers what to say. He thinks about the large project waiting for him at the Academy, the annual re-programming of the Kobayashi Maru. Despite Starfleet's insistence that each iteration of the program be more challenging, the cadets' responses have remained the same for the past four years—most becoming rattled and frantic, or rattled and belligerent, or rattled and hopeless.

"Some of my colleagues and students are interesting," Spock says carefully, "but most of the humans I know are…predictable."

T'Quill looks for a long time without blinking.

"Indeed," she says at last. "That has not been my experience with humans. They seem to celebrate the chaos and randomness of their lives—what they call serendipity."

"Luck," Spock supplies, "is the more common term."

T'Quill nods, clearly filing away this information for later. "Now, perhaps you can help me adjust this chronometer. When I travel I always set my chronometer to correlate to my destination. I see that you have already done so."

Spock looks down quickly at the chronometer on his wrist. "I never changed it," he explains. "It is still set for San Francisco."

"Curious," T'Quill says. "Then it is as if you never left. Or perhaps, you were always ready to return."

X X X X X X X X

For the rest of the journey T'Quill alternates her time between light sleep or reading the news feeds on her comm. Other than a few words to update her about the earthquake, Spock is silent, reading notices from the Academy and revising his syllabus to accommodate one less lab day—Nyota has sent him a message that the phonology lab needs some minor repairs. Her words are cool and professional—and he finds them oddly discomforting.

Perhaps because of this he finds himself rereading two earlier notes, ones sent as soon as her power was up and she was able to get a message through. The first is anguished—her desperation clear even to him_—"Where __**are**__ you? No one can __**find**__ you,_" she had written.

The second is furious, coming after he had hung up her voice mail a dozen times before finally leaving her an actual message explaining his absence. He recognizes the tone from memories of overheard arguments between his parents, or from the rare times when his mother was truly provoked with him. Her note had prompted a late call to her comm—and a long, confusing conversation that even now he picks apart for meaning.

"_The worst part was not knowing where you were, or if you were hurt_," she had said angrily. _"You should have told me that you were going to Vulcan. Then I wouldn't have worried."_

And Spock had at first tried to reason with her. _"If I had been on Earth, we would have been out of communication because of the power failure, and you still would not have known where I was or if I were hurt. I fail to see how my being on Vulcan—"_

"_I would have known you were okay, but instead I spent several miserable days imagining you hurt somewhere, in a hospital, unable to speak—" _

Her voice had cracked and Spock's throat had tightened. The video reception was still inoperative, but the crucifixion in her voice conjured up such an image of misery that he was glad he could not see her. In a moment she breathed out softy and added, _"Please don't do that again. I need to know….if you are safe."_

They had spoken twice more before the end of his visit—once to tell her of his travel plans and arrival time—he wouldn't make that mistake again--and one other late-night call after his parents had retired; a brief, impulsive conversation where he had suggested that he might cook a meal for her when he got back—to celebrate their having weathered an earthquake without much damage.

As the shuttle makes its final descent, Spock calls up the inventory of his kitchen on his comm and matches it against a recipe he has copied from the cookbook he had given his mother. A trip to the market on the way home is in order. He will have to replace the perishables, naturally, but the recipe also calls for unusual things—preserved lemons, for instance, and cinnamon. Spock vaguely recalls his mother telling him something about cinnamon—but that memory has already dropped off the cliff of his attention.

Instead, he is preoccupied with engineering a way to guarantee that they will have time and occasion for that promised meal. Another late night in the lab, perhaps—making sure that the cafeteria is closed before finishing their work? The odds are good that the lab actually will require more time than he anticipates, but he is not content to leave this up to chance—to serendipity—to luck. The lab **will** require extra time and care; he will see to that-- probably tonight, or at the latest, as soon as he dusts off the red clay tagine his mother had given him long ago when he had left for Earth, assuring him that he would never be lonely if he learned to cook.

**A/N: T'Quill is a Vulcan healer in StarTrekFanWriter's universe—she appears in the story "How the Mighty Have Fallen" and is mentioned in "The Reunion." I borrowed her for this story with STFW's gracious permission.**

**The red tagine (a shallow round pot with a tall decorative lid) figures in my other fic, "Truth and Lies." That story is set some months after this one—after the Battle of Vulcan. The first few chapters are angsty, but the tagine helps engineer a happy ending.**


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